


Counting the Weeks

by akingnotaprincess



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Happy Ending, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Malcolm Bright is "Fine", Mpreg, Pregnancy, Prison, Spoilers for Episode: s01e20 Like Father ..., Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25554073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akingnotaprincess/pseuds/akingnotaprincess
Summary: Malcolm is twelve weeks pregnant when he's arrested for murder.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright
Comments: 7
Kudos: 67
Collections: PSon Goblin Swap Summer 2020!





	Counting the Weeks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sonshineandshowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/gifts).



> Detailed thanks will be posted after author reveals.

Thirteen Weeks

His cell at Bellevue Hospital is one of the nicer ones, thanks to his family's money. The normal cells were bleak, looking as though they were straight out of the Depression era, and haven't been updated with twenty-first century amenities. However his room is spacious, modern, and has a view of the skyscape from First Avenue. There's even an en suite to a full bathroom, which he's grateful for given how often he has to pee. For once in his life Malcolm is very appreciative of his family's wealth. He knows that his mental and emotional state is fragile, and being able to stay as comfortable as possible helps slightly.

Though he's alone in the cell the cameras watching his every move are visible from each corner of the room, tucked away in the ceiling. There's two guards on the other side of the door leading to the hallway. He wonders if they think he's a jumper, or if they are there because trying to show that Malcolm isn't a special case. It's probably both. After all, Malcolm did violate his home confinement order, so the possibility of him trying to escape is high from their perspective. There is no reason to run, not anymore. It's for the best for everyone if he sees this mess through to the end. 

Endicott is dead, and with that Malcolm hopes that there won't be another monster to show up and take his place for some time. Endicott is dead, and Malcolm is locked away for committing not one, but _two_ murders _—_ neither one committed by his own hand. All because of one man. One man was able to ruin Malcolm's life. He's lived the last twenty years in his father's shadow, with everyone waiting for the day he'd snap and become a killer. He supposes that the public have gotten what they wanted now. Everyone has always wanted to see the monster that The Surgeon raised, now they've gotten their chance and _more._ The Surgeon's son has killed two men, and while pregnant to boot. It's probably hit the media by this point, and it's probably quite the _sexy_ story.

He hasn't been allowed any sort of electronics— no TV, no phone, no tablet. The few things he's been allowed to have as entertainment were jigsaws, books on pregnancy, and a deck of cards. The only way he's been finding out what is going on outside of the hospital is from his mother and the lawyers. They all assure him that everything _is_ fine, _will_ be fine, his name will be cleared before he knows it. Malcolm knows that it is bullshit; his career has been in crime investigation for almost a decade. He knows it's bad, because of course it is. The last week has been hell.

Eve was murdered by a hired assassin _—_ found dead two weeks later.

He was framed for murdering Eddie, but hadn't been cleared of the crime.

Gil was stabbed by one of Endicott's men, and Malcolm is not sure how his recovery is going.

He watched his sister slit Enditcott's throat and stab him in a rage until the man was lifeless on the floor.

Malcolm didn't want his sister to be ruined. She had a life ahead of her, a promising future. Malcolm already had one murder over his head, what was one more? It made more sense that The Surgeon's son who already had known and documented mental issues murdered someone, rather than his daughter who was friendly and well adjusted.

Malcolm rests his hand on his stomach. He's only thirteen weeks pregnant so it's not obvious that he's expecting. No one's eyes glance to his stomach and wonder if he's pregnant or not. However, Malcolm has noticed physical differences _—_ he's already moved up a pants size and is throwing up what little he was able to eat. No one who has seen him seems to have figured it out _—_ not even his mother commented on his appearance until he told her after the first arrest. 

There's around twenty-seven weeks left. By the time he's full term the trial would be well underway, if not over with if it was pushed through the courts quickly. Malcolm will most likely have given birth before he is sent to prison. That's his one regret in all this. Without thinking about the life growing inside of him, Malcolm acted to protect Ainsley. He should have taken a breath to actually think about what he was doing. To think of a solution that would protect his sister, himself, and his unborn child-- there had to have been another way. Now his baby will grow up with its bearer in prison _—_ only seeing him once a month, only one hour at a time. What kind of parent would he be when he misses _everything_ from first steps to graduations? It's one more thing that compares him to The Surgeon. Two parents locked away for murders, missing their children's lives. Like father, like son. The list of comparisons keeps getting longer and longer. 

Well, no. He has two regrets. The other regret is not getting to tell the father _before_ all this mess began. Malcolm wanted to be cautious. He didn't want to get everyone worked up only for something to happen, like a false positive or a miscarriage. The plan had been to tell the father that he _was_ a father after crossing past the first trimester finish line. His plan had been to invite him over to the loft for dinner _—_ nothing unusual, nothing special. Malcolm would try his best to steer the conversation towards the topic of children, and tell him calmly, coyly, confidently that he was pregnant.

That would never happen now. 

Malcolm has never been one to be swallowed up by his own pain, but knowing that he's already fucked up his child's life is hard to cope with.

* * *

Fifteen Weeks

> _**Baby is looking more like a baby** _
> 
> _Curious why your body is finally looking pregnant? It's because at 15 weeks pregnant your baby is quickly growing bigger each week — he's as long as 4 inches right now._
> 
> _Need a better visual? Hold a pear in your hand — that's how big your little darlin' is. Now that you're done looking, eat that pear for a delicious, nutritious snack!_
> 
> _And with each passing week, your fetus is also looking more and more like the baby you're picturing in your dreams. By now, the ears are positioned properly on the sides of the head — they used to be in the neck — and the eyes are moving from the side of the head to the front of the face — where they'll soon meet your loving gaze._

Malcolm tosses the softcover book aside with a slight growl. He holds his head in his hands, trying his best to hold back a sob. It's like the book is taunting him _—_ mocking him for getting into this situation. The style of the writing is doing its best at being friendly, but it hits Malcolm hard. 

He can't help imagine what their baby will look like _—_ who they will take after more. A baby with dark hair, but has Malcolm's facial structure and ears. A baby with the father's skin tone. A baby who is beautiful and perfect and all theirs. He can daydream all he wants, but it doesn't matter… he wonders why he lets himself care so much. He won't be able to enjoy the normal parenting things. Getting attached would make it all worse. Except Malcolm knows with all his heart that it's too late to prevent that; he's already fallen in love with his baby.

The heavy lock on the cell door clicks as it turns and opens. It's one of the guards that he's used to seeing at this point. He's a heavyset man with a short but bushy red beard, and he's one of the nicer ones. The black plastic name tag pinned above his left pec reads SCOTT. 

Malcolm stands up from his bed, turns around so his back faces Scott, bows his head, and clasps his hands behind him, mindful of the protocol. 

"Turn around."

Malcom does.

Scott manipulates his arms so his hands are placed in front of his bump-- and flicks the metal cuffs towards his small wrists, ensuring they snap shut before grabbing a second pair. He bends down and shackles his ankles as well. The sound makes Malcolm's skin crawl. The click and subsequent ratcheting to make the cuffs fit has a finality to it.

It's not until they're two floors down from his cell that Scott speaks casually, less gruff than before. "How far along are you now? Sixteen weeks?"

"Fifteen," Malcolm corrects. "They're the size of a pear. Or an orange. Or a ring pop. Depending on your source of fetus-food size equivalent."

Scott chuckles. "My boyfriend hates that shit. His mother is obsessed with knowing that stuff. Always asks when she comes over for Sunday dinner. Every. Week. Watch your step," he warns before they go down a platform step. 

"They're…" Malcolm raises his cuffed hands to point at the officer like he usually did when pointing out something, but let his arms drop with a piercing glare from Scott. Ah yes, he can't gesture with his hands like he usually does. His hands have to remain in front of him dangling limply at all times. It's something he's still trying to get used to. "They're thirty-seven weeks? Thirty-eight?"

"Thirty-eight. Babies could decide to come any day now. Completely nerve wracking. The bug-out bag has been packed and repacked for weeks. My boyfriend keeps rearranging the nursery furniture for Feng Shui. Almost there. Turn to the left."

Malcolm obeys. He can tell by the path they take that they're heading for the visitor area. It's puzzling because he isn't expecting a visit until Friday. The visitor rooms are color coded with blocky numbers in black paint on the doors. Usually they put Malcolm in the green pod, but they keep moving until Scott halts in front of Red Seven. As the officer opens the door Malcolm sees he'll be in one of the medium size visitor rooms _—_ one of nicer ones that has decent space for both the visitor and the prisoner. Every wall has a large window made of unbreakable glass for observation. In this style of room he won't be restrained at all, and he'll be supplied with two bottles of water, a yellow legal pad and a full pencil if he wants to write anything down. 

He expects his mother or one of the lawyers to be behind the glass since they're the only visitors he has received all these weeks, but to his shock it's Dani. He doesn't break eye contact with her as the hand and ankle cuffs are removed and even after Scott leaves him alone in the room with his friend. Dani looks tired. There deep bags under her eyes, her face is gaunt, once vibrant curly hair is tangled and limp. He hasn't seen Dani since the night he was arrested _—_ since waiting at the hospital to hear an update on Gil's status. The last conversation they’d had Dani at last believed in his innocence. God knows what she thinks of him _now._

"Long time, no see,'" he greeted with a small wave. He pulls out the plastic chair with metal feet that scrape along the tile floor with a screech. Malcolm groans, holding the small of his back as he sits down. He's had sporadic minor back pain in the past week. "Can you hear me okay?"

Dani waits several beats after he sits, staring at him the whole time, eyeing him, until she says, "You're pregnant." A statement; no room for denial or room for dispute.

"Yes," he replies. He's not going to lie to her _—_ not after what they've gone through these past few months. "How do you know?" It makes him feel uneasy that Dani knows, and Malcolm assumes that the father does not know. Telling his mother, the lawyers, the guards was all necessary for his survival in the system. A pregnant prisoner needed more attention than an average prisoner. He needs to protect the baby even if he can't protect himself. 

"It's in the arrest report. I was finally able to get a copy. Everything has been a mess at the precinct since things went down. But it's not difficult to find in the report. You told the arresting officers that you are…" Dani picks up a sheet of paper, most likely a copy of the report she's referring to. "Twelve weeks pregnant." She puts the paper down, giving him an accusing look. "That means you are fifteen weeks now? Why didn't you tell us you were pregnant, Bright?"

"I thought it was best for everyone not to know yet."

"Best for every…" Dani turns her face to the side, takes a deep breath in and lets out a long exaggerated exhale. "You should have told us," she scolds, turning back. "We should have known to keep you safe. To keep you and the baby safe." Dani blows out a puff of air. "Does Gil know he's going to be a father?"

Tension cuts through the air like a knife. Every second he doesn't answer only seems to increase stress between them. Malcolm looks away from her, the pale backsplash seems quite interesting all of the sudden. "No. He doesn't know. I was going to tell him that week." Malcolm sniffles loudly, and wipes his eyes. "That didn't go as planned." Malcolm lets out a shaky breath. "Have you seen him? No one will tell me how he is."

Dani blinks, then blinks again. "You don't… What? Why? How?"

Malcolm smiles cheekily for a moment at Dani's flustered response. It doesn't last long and his face returns to looking grim. "It's not like we're married. To the hospital I have just as much right to know what's going on as the next Joe Shmoe. They don't have to tell me a thing, and especially can't tell my mother. I don't know if he's…" 

Dani reaches her arm out, but retracts it with a grimace _—_ probably remembering the glass keeping them apart. "Gil's alive, Bright. Gil is strong and stubborn, we both know that. He's still in the hospital for recovery. Whoever stabbed him knew where to go. If your mom hadn't…" She clears her throat and shakes her head. "Um, he's still in for observation and recovery. He has physical therapy every day which he's not happy about doing." Her voice softens, "He always asks about you."

"What have you told him? Does he know I'm pregnant?" Malcolm's voice cracks when he speaks the last word. He wishes he wasn't so emotionally vulnerable. He's a wreck, but pregnancy and what has happened in the last few weeks has made everything dizzying.

Dani shakes her head. "No, I haven't told him. It's not my place to tell him. That's all on you, friend."

A warm and loving feel grows inside of Malcolm's chest. His blue eyes begin to water and all he wants to do is leap over the table and break through the glass and hug her. Malcolm has always had trouble making friends— he puts his foot in his mouth, creeps people out with all of his knowledge of death, and his past catching up with him— all things that push potential friends away. Dani has seen him at his worst, and yet here she was as his friend. 

Dani continues, oblivious to Malcolm's internal happiness. "I would have come by sooner, but I've been swamped since I was made lead on this case. I needed to make sure you were okay. Are you?"

"Given the circumstances? I'm fine."

Malcolm expects some form of protest because he always receives disappointed looks, tuts, glares, scoffs, even tongue clicking when he says he's fine. However, Dani does none of this. Instead she asks, "What about the baby?" Her dark eyes are pleading with him, begging him for a positive response. It makes Malcolm's heart full that she cares.

"Baby's fine. Everything is perfectly normal for once in my life. They're a little on the small side, but it's still early. I'll get to find out the gender in a couple weeks."

Dani's mood seems to brighten for a brief moment. Her posture is better, the lines of stress at the corners of her eyes seem to fade away; she pulls her chair closer to her side of the table. "Do you want a boy or a girl?"

Malcolm laughs lightly. "Honestly? I don't care either way. Both genders come with their own set of problems." He rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat. "What does Gil know about my situation?"

Dani's happiness seems to disappear in seconds and the mask of seriousness returns. "The known facts. You murdered Eddie, if that really is his name. Violated the terms of your bail by leaving the Whitly residence, and murdered Nicholas Endicott at your home. That you were arrested again and are in a detention center. I didn't tell him where you are being held. I didn't want him to worry that you're in a hospital. God knows where his mind would go then. He's not mad at you, or disappointed. Gil knows it was in self defense like the rest of us. We're going to get you out of here, Bright. I promise."

➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖

"The induction is set for Monday. The doctors are being cautious. It's a high risk pregnancy. Twins are always high risk, but his first kid was born three months early."

Malcolm's eyes widen. "Did the baby make it?"

Scott nods. "My boyfriend said it was touch and go for a while. Turn right and right again," he instructs. "The baby was in the NICU for four months. Second door. They're completely fine. Has to visit doctors more than most kids, but they're fine." Scott chuckles like he's remembering something. "They're so sassy. Got that from their mother. Step down." 

"I'm glad it worked out. Your partner must be so nervous."

"Oh no, he's fine. He's looking forward to it all. Can't wait for the pregnancy to be over. I'm the one who is a nervous wreck. Everything is about to change. And _twins?"_ He whistles. "It's going to be a lot to handle. We'll be parents to three kids in a few days. It's nuts to think about. And we're in Green Three today." Scott stops, taking a green capped key from his giant ring of keys and unlocks the door, and ushers Malcolm inside.

Malcolm is expecting to see his mother and one of the lawyers on the other side of the glass today like every Friday… instead… it's…

 _"Gil,"_ he gasps softly, barely audible. 

His partner's head snaps up and he practically jumps out of his seat to stand. Malcolm is quick to notice Gil's face contorted in pain and his hand grabbing his front. "Bright," Gil says loud and clear. "Bright, are you okay?"

Malcolm gives him a hint of a smile. "I'm fine." The wrist and ankle cuffs are undone, and Scott reminds them that they only have forty-five minutes, and closes the door behind him. "I didn't expect to see you."

Gil looks like he's just been slapped— pulling his head back and looking at Malcolm with disbelieving eyes. "Why would you ever think that?"

Malcolm scoffs as he pulls out the chair and sits. "Last time I saw you, you were lying in a hospital bed recovering from surgery after being stabbed. I assumed that you would be too busy to visit me."

"I never stopped thinking of you. From the moment I woke up the first thing I asked was about you. I couldn't get a straight answer from anyone about you, until I saw a news report on the TV. Malcolm, what happened?"

He has a choice to make— keep on with the lie that the public believes or tell his partner the truth. He chooses the latter. The father of his child deserves the truth. The words tumble out of Malcolm's mouth so fast that Gil has to tell him to stop and take a breath several times.

"I need to tell you something," Malcolm hurries his words. If he doesn't say it now he'll regret Gil finding out any other way.

"Is this about Dani? She called me yesterday." Gil waits for a reaction and when none comes he continues. "She said that I needed to see you, but wouldn't tell me why."

Better just say it. "I'm pregnant."

Malcolm had prepared for yelling, shouting or an enormous smile when Gil finally found out his little secret. What he hadn't expected was for Gil to bury his face in his hands, shoulders shaking as he sobbed. He hasn't seen Gil cry since Jackie's funeral. Malcolm's face blanches and he wishes there was a way to take it all back. 

Finally, Gil raises his head and chokes, "I never thought I'd have a chance to be a father."

The rest of the forty-five minutes fly by, and sooner than Malcolm would have wanted the door to room Green Three opens and Scott steps through. As Malcolm is being manacled once again, Gil promises he'll come by at least once a week. 

"We'll get through this, Bright. I promise. I won't stop until you're out of here. I won't stop until we're back together as a family."

Malcolm nods, agreeing to something that he's not sure will ever come true. Everyone seems much more optimistic about his release than him. His friends, his family, they need to prepare for the worst, because Malcolm knows that the worst is yet to come.

* * *

Eighteen Weeks

The baby book— that Malcolm is despising more and more everyday— suggested to do prenatal yoga. There was a whole page with six poses and their directions on how to do it, and how the pose benefited mother and child. He figured that since he's been doing his morning and evening yoga routines that he can easily add a few additional poses. Just as he's finished Child's Pose, the odd fluttering feeling from his stomach lasts for three bursts until it stops. It started a week ago, a couple days after Gil's last visit. Malcolm can't wait to tell him that the baby has begun to kick. Malcolm smiles as he sees the skin of his stomach push upwards for the briefest of seconds. He runs his fingers over the spot where the baby kicked, and makes a noise of surprise as the spot where his hand lays feels another kick. 

A knock on the door and the lock turning takes him out his good mood. He stands at the ready for the officer to come in. 

"Hey, Mommy," an oily voice says along with the heavy footsteps and rattling of keys comes closer. "Time for you to see the doc." The guard slides his hands around Malcolm's middle, stroking his visible bump. 

Malcolm cringes. He hates this guard the most. Tank— and his surname is appropriate. The man is built like a brick house. His forearms are double the size of Malcolm's, making the sleeves of his white uniform stretch at the strain of containing his muscles. It's clear that if Tank wanted to he'd be able to take Malcolm done without breaking a sweat. He's always too touchy and calling him _Mommy_ — never his name, just Mommy. 

Bellevue has an excellent OB-GYN department and today he has an appointment to see one of the doctors, for an ultrasound and check-up. Malcolm has actually been looking forward to this appointment— there's the possibility that the scan will reveal the gender of the baby. He wishes that Gil could be there with him. It's yet another important moment that he will miss out on. It breaks Malcolm's heart. His mind drifts to what could have been— a happy little thought. Gil cooking him a traditional Filipino breakfast of poqui poqui or even tapsilog with Malcolm telling him for the hundredth time that there's no more 'eating for two' so he shouldn't make double portions. Surrounded by all of their friends and family for a baby shower. A hundred other little moments that they are missing because of what cards they have been dealt. Malcolm childishly thinks it's unfair, but reminds himself, solemnly, that he got himself into this in the first place. 

"Ow." Malcolm winces as Tank fastens the cuffs too tight— there's going to be deep red marks on his wrists now. 

"Let's go, Mommy. I'm escorting you to your date." Tank pushes him out of the cell so hard that Malcolm stumbles and has to regain his footing.

The long walk is refreshing. This is his first time outside of the section of the hospital detention center in all these weeks. The smell of bleach in the wide corridors makes him want to hurl, but the generic paintings of meadows and brooks is soothing. There's _something_ to see besides the plain dull walls of the detention block. Malcolm tries keeping his head down as best as he can— not wanting to bring anymore attention to himself than he already is causing. A pregnant man dressed in a maternity orange jumpsuit, in cuffs and chains being escorted through the hospital is something that even the most oblivious person couldn't miss. 

Tank stops in front of the Obstetrics Department where another officer, one that Malcolm is unfamiliar with, waits for them, and will be the one to accompany him to his appointment. 

Tank leans over and whispers in Malcolm's ear. "Remember Mommy, you're nothing special. In here you all look the same. In here, you have to work with what you have, and you certainly have something people want. You might come from big money, but in here all you are is a cold-blooded knocked up slut." He gives him a push towards the other officer, loudly speaking, "Have a good appointment, Mommy. Hope that baby is nice and healthy."

The doctor is polite, and speaks to him like he's a person. She asks if he wants to know the gender of the baby. Malcolm declines— he wants to find out the gender together with Gil. But he takes the printed copies of the sonogram in an envelope back to his cell. 

* * *

Twenty Weeks

The door opening without a courtesy knock startles Malcolm out of his meditation. Confused, he looks out of the window checking what he already knows _—_ it's twilight, the sky is almost completely dark and the lights of the city have taken over. No one has ever come to his cell at this time. Dinner had been two hours ago _—_ his empty tray had been taken away an hour ago. Lights out wasn't for a while longer. Why was anyone coming?

Scott strolls through the door wearing the biggest grin on his face. 

"I have some good news for you."

Malcolm raises a single eyebrow. "Oh?" It's intriguing that the guard hasn't told him to stand. Malcolm can't think of a reason why that would be. But he is comfortable for a change, so he makes no move to get up. It makes him feel defiant even though it is Scott as the assigned guard. He's the only one considerate about Malcolm's condition. 

"Get your things together. You're a free man. The faster you get ready the faster you'll be out of here."

"What?!" Malcolm jumps up, quickly regretting the decision as his lower back protests. "What happened?"

"D.A. dropped all of the charges. Insufficient evidence. Order is to let you out of here ASAP. Mrs. Whitly made sure you'd be released in peace— no press or commotion. Congratulations, man." Scott walks forward and claps him on the shoulder. "Let's go."

Malcolm can't stop smiling as he is processed to leave _—_ signing papers, handing over the orange jumpsuit and changing into his old clothes (which are _very_ uncomfortable at this point), and is given his belongings he had when he was arrested. He hadn't realized how comforting some of his possessions are— like how feeling the weight of his Patek Phillippe on his wrist helped make him feel grounded. 

The cuffs being unlocked and taken off for the final time cause Malcolm to feel relaxed for the first time in months. 

Malcolm closes his eyes after he exits the revolving door to the outside _—_ to freedom _—_ to whatever normalcy he has been able to scrounge up. He's barely able to think of anything else when he hears a cry of "Malcolm!" He lets out an _oof!_ as someone collides with him, burying their face into his shoulder, arms curled around his neck. The sweet scent of lemons and blueberries wafts to his nose. "Ains," he sighs with relief, comfort, and happiness. His sister openly sobs as he holds her against his body. He shushes her and whispers that he's fine, the baby is fine, everything is fine, that they're safe. 

When Ainsley finally pulls away her eyes are red and her face is blotchy. "I don't know what to say," she chokes.

Malcolm shrugs exaggerated. "There's nothing to say."

"I owe you—"

Malcolm stops her there. "No you don't." 

"Malcolm," someone from behind hiccups, and then finds himself embraced by his mother. 

Malcolm relaxes as he holds his mother and his sister, as they hold him back so tightly like they never want to let go. It reminds him that these two women are his family and no matter what is thrown at them they survive through it together. They survived John Watkins, they are still surviving Dr. Whitly being a serial killer, and they have survived this. Malcolm is proud that his child will grow up with two strong women to teach them what it means to be family.

Reluctantly they release their hold on him. Ainsley looks like she's going to start crying all over again. She hugs him again, saying that she loves him.

Mother kisses his cheeks with a promise she'll call him in the morning. "And we'll see you tomorrow evening for dinner. No buts," she says preemptively as he opens his mouth to protest. "We need to go over a few things with the lawyers, and I will not have my grandbaby living off of inferior cuisine. And darling, we must get you some new clothes. I'll have the tailor come around for a fitting. Be sure to arrive by five-thirty," his mother tells him. "I can send Adolpho with the car or Gil can bring you." She steps aside after waving at and blowing a kiss to his bump.

"Gil," he gasps like it's his last breath. 

Gil is standing at the curb, leaning against the LeMans, ankle crossed and his arms over his chest— trying his best to appear casual to the world. However the moment he locks eyes on Malcolm he sprints towards them, stopping short of colliding with him. His hands frame Malcolm's face and Gil surges forward to kiss Malcolm. Malcolm's arms wrap around Gil's shoulders, and a hand touches the back of his head to pull Gil closer. It feels electrifying-- like all of their sorrow, their hope, their love for each other sparked something that had dimmed during his time at Bellevue. Malcolm hopes that he's getting across all of his emotions in this one kiss.

"We're touching," Malcolm murmurs against Gil's lips. "We're touching. 

"I know, kid. You must be exhausted. I should take you home."

Malcolm grabs Gil's wrist as he turns away and tugs him back. Gil gives questioning look, raising one of his eyebrows. 

"Do you want to see what the gender is?"

The corners of Gil's eyes crinkle. "Sure, kid."

Malcolm pulls the small envelope from the manilla folder that was given to him when he was released. His hand trembles as he hands Gil the envelope with the sonogram inside. It's not the tremor— Malcolm hasn't been triggered. It is shaking because of the anticipation of the moment.

Gil takes the envelope, slowly opens the flap, but stops there. "Together?" he suggests.

Malcolm gulps and nods. Their fingers brush against each other's, as they gingerly tug the snuggly fit photo out of its confinement. The sonogram picture is faced towards them. There in white tiny font in-between what looks like to be the bottom view of legs and a crotch is written: IT'S A GIRL!!!

"We're having a daughter," Gil laughs. "We're having a daughter." Gil places his hand on the back of Malcolm's neck and squeezes. Malcolm melts instantly, closing his eyes and releasing the tension he's felt for months. 

Gil opens the passenger side door and waits for Malcolm to get in the car before jogging around to his own side. He places the grainy sonogram of their daughter on the dash, securing the photo so it wouldn't wiggle or fall. "Your place or mine?" Gil asks. 

Malcolm doesn't hesitate. "Yours." 

The traffic back to Gil's row house is surprisingly light and they are able to get to their destination in twenty minutes. Malcolm's loft is much closer—only ten minutes from the hospital, but Malcolm wants to be comforted by familiar surroundings. He's always felt more at home at Gil's than his own place in Nolita. 

The whole drive Malcolm rests his hand on top of Gil's while he drives them through the city.

The moment they step into the home Gil buries his face in the crook of Malcolm's pale shoulder and inhales his scent. "I've missed you, kid." 

Malcolm rests his cheek on Gil's head. "I've missed you too."

Gil lightly kisses his neck. "Can I touch your stomach?" wanting consent before doing anything. 

Malcolm nods, and Gil pulls away and gazes at Malcolm's stomach for a few seconds. His eyes begin to water at the sight. With a gasp, Gil caresses the swell of the bump and gets down on his knees in front of him. His large hands span across the bump, cradling it. Gil leans forward giving the bump tender kisses. He looks up at Malcolm, eyes so full of love that it takes his breath away.

"I love you," Gil confesses. "I love you so much." He rests his cheek against the bump. "I love you both so much."

Malcolm runs his fingers through Gil's short dark hair. It grounds him. "We love you too. Always have. Always will." Malcolm smirks. "It's not like me to get sappy."

"I think it's fine this one time."


End file.
